“I’m studying second chapter of Acts. Want to study with me?” washing the next plate, rinsing it, and then handing it to me. We stood side by side at the sink, our hips nearly touching. It was so delightful.
“I’d love to.”
“Super. Just give me a little time to freshen up. We can study right here at the table.” Handing me the last dish.
I ran up up my room, taking the steps two at a time.
Half an hour later I’m back downstairs sitting at the cleared off kitchen table. The table is about five feet long and three wide. One of its long sides is pushed up against a wall. There are two chairs. One sits at the other long side. The other has its back to the wall, beside the table’s left end. I sit in the end chair and set my Bible and a pen and notebook on the table. I hear movement in her room.
She comes out having changed into tight fitting green velvet pajamas. She is enticingly hot. As she sits at the center chair I notice the ripple her nipples have made in the sheer fabric of her top. She isn’t wearing a bra! She has a deluxe study Bible and opens it to Acts 2.
“I like your Bible. It’s annotated and everything.”
“Yes, it’s very useful. Maybe we could just use mine. Do you want to scoot your chair around? It’ll make it easier.”
Her words are like mana from heaven. I slide my chair around as close as it can get to hers. We begin our study, taking turns reading verses and then discussing their meanings. Our head careen out over the table nearly touching. The agonizingly sweet fragrance of her hair permeates the air. With each passage we study I shift a little closer to her. Our thighs gently touch. I feel her warmth. My cock is hard but the bulge in my jeans is safely hidden from her view by the table top. I subtly drop my right hand down onto my leg and spend the next ten minutes very slowly, slow as a spider, shifting it over till it’s resting on her thigh. First, just the tiniest amount of pressure and then, ever so gradually, releasing all of my hand’s weight until my palm rests fully and completely upon her divine flesh. All the while my senses are highly attuned to the slightest change in her demeanor, ready for a hasty retreat and a logical explanation. I never needed one, all the time storing up erotic sensations to be released in more private environs. After a couple hours she announced she had to get ready for bed. I expertly retracted my hand. We closed the Bible, stood and stretched and wished each other a peaceful nights rest.
Soon as I got back up to my room. I stripped naked and sunk down onto my small bed. I entertained fantasies about being married to Malory. I tried to resist the temptation to pleasure myself but I was weak. I touched myself. After one touch I could not stop. I masturbated and was in heaven for a few sweet minutes.
But now I feel guilty and debased. I vow to repent. Lord please grant my wish of matrimony with your daughter Malory. I will be your constant servant if you make Malory mine for ever and ever.
Chapter 6
Close Call
Back at Quik Pump
Dill was sweating bullets the whole time as Deputy Ramirez continued to fish for information.
“Something wrong?” Sven asked.
“No, no, does it look like it?”
“Quite frankly yes. You’re sweating up a storm. You wouldn’t be hiding anything in there would you?”
Dill’s heart skipped a beat as Sven moved his hand to the door handle.
“It’s just been a super long day and Calico’s going to serve me my ass on a platter if I’m not home in a jiff.”
“Well, I guess you’d better be going, then. Don’t want to be called over on account of a domestic dispute,” both men laughing.
“Thanks. Good luck finding Malory,” putting the Burban in gear. “Hope she’s okay.”
“Thanks a bunch, Dill. Take care, now,” waving as Dill drove the Burban over to the side of Kwik Pump and killed the engine.
“Stay put and don’t move a muscle,” he whispered to Malory, still under the blanket. “Looks like Sven’s going to hang around a bit. I’ll be right back.”
“Make it fast. My ass ain’t holding out too well on this crap you got piled on the floor. What is this stuff, anyway?”
“Circuit boards from old radios. Be right back.”
Dill was taking a hell of a chance. Inside the store he bolted for the back coolers, grabbed a twelve pack of Old Mill, and high tailed it back up front. But one of those old bastards that always comes in for lottery tickets when you’re in a hurry beat him to the register. He had to wait three minutes, cursing under his breath, constantly looking out the storefront window, thinking of how he was going to fuck Malory’s brains out once he got out of there. Trying to think of a good place, like maybe the parking lot of the corn syrup plant. That’s a good low-key spot. Finally, the high roller grabbed his lottery tickets and shuffled on out the door. He bought another pack of smokes, paying for both them and the beer with his debit card.
He grabbed the beer and rushed out, almost knocking over the old man who’d stopped to play his scratch cards just outside the door.
“Scuze me, old timer. Hope you win a million,” running around the corner of the store. Sven’s patrol car was still parked just inside the parking lot entrance. But no Sven anywhere in sight. Sweet. He made it. Now off to the corn syrup plant for some sugar.
He opened the driver’s door of the Burban.
“Ready to rumble, Malory?” reaching in and setting the beer on the seat.
A heavy blunt object hit him from behind, knocking him off his feet. All consciousness left him as his body crumpled to the gravel.
Thank you for reading Malory. This is the first book in the Love Binge series. Look for the further erotic exploits of Dill and the sexy women of Worthless Bastard, Minnesota in Calico, book two of the series.
Thank you for reading my dirty fantasy. Here are more filthy good reads:
Calico
* Calico *
I wake to the patter of rain on the metal roof. The muted light of a lazy wet dawn diffuses in through the blurry window panes. I’m in Dill’s bed. In the back of his quonset hut. On the other side of a beaded curtain from Dill’s electronics shop. He’s not here. Didn’t make it in last night. Must have met up with someone. Gives me a chance to daydream. Hmm….
I’m naked and totally warm and mello. Hmm… I love nothing better than the freedom to just lie in bed on a rainy morn. A car splashes by on Minnesota Avenue. The room smells of patchouli. I love the world. I want to make love to the whole wide world and everyone in it. Hmm…. Words cannot express the feeling. They don’t exist in my present mind. Just a stream of images. Naked bodies. Multitudes of beautiful men and women all making love together in a warm sun-drenched meadow with flowers all around. It’s like the anti-Fight Club. It’s Fuck Club. Total peace. I check out of the straight-jacket so-called real world of clock time. Just let existence be.
My daydream floats me back two years to when Dill, Norman Dillinger Sunday - I love his name, and I first hooked up. I was hitchhiking across country on my way to San Fran. Doing a Kerouac thing. Dill picked me up in St. Paul. He was drunk as a skunk. He told me his story. How he had been living in Boston for nine years pursuing his dream as a writer but not really making a go of it when his wife got killed in a car crash. That totally crushed him. He needed a change. So he sold most of his stuff, packed the rest of it in the back of an old Chevy Suburban, and came back to his roots. To Minnesota. Headed toward the town of Worthless Bastard. Can you dig that name? I mean, it sounded like a place for Beat people. Kerouac’s people. What’s that famous line from Kerouac? “I want to be with the mad ones. Mad to live. Mad to fuck….” Ha. Can’t remember how it all goes. Anyway, so I said to Dill, “Take me there.”
Anyway, I peg Dill to be one of those “mad ones” and I hop in his ride, the Burban, as he calls it. It’s filled to the gills with all his worldly lovethings and we head northwest on State Highway 55. One thing we have in common, we both like the back roads.
He is so vivid. He’s right here with
me now.
About a half hour up 55 we’re somewhere around this farmer’s town called Cokato where we pull into a convenience store and pick up a six pack of Old Mill and hit the road again. It’s a hot sunny afternoon. We’re cruising along, each of us has got a cold can of beer in our hands. I’m in tight jean shorts. I kick off my tennies onto the passenger floor and lean back against Dill’s massive bicep. Stick my bare feet out the passenger window.
“Those dreadlocks feel like burlap,” he chuckles. He’s real loose, checking me out, my long slender tanned legs. I grab his burly right hand and guide it down to my tender inner thigh. He smiles at me. Until then our road talk had been mostly of trivial stuff. Stuff like how much Minneapolis has changed in the nine years he’d been away - things like there’s three new stadiums, the light rail, old hang-outs that have disappeared.
He squeezes and caresses my thigh and runs his sausage fingers up and down all along my loins.
I purr, snuggling his rock of a shoulder.
“So what do you have planned in Worthless Bastard?”
“I’m just going to chill awhile.”
“You still got family there?”
“Just an aunt. Aunt Jane. Librarian at the Worthless Bastard Public Library. Got my dad’s shop, too.”
“What’s your dad’s shop?”
“Dad was a TV repairman. Had a shop, Norm’s TV and Repair. As a kid I hung out there and helped him. Learned a little about fixing TVs what have you. It’s been closed since he died. Cancer, back in oh-five. I’d like to get it up and running again.”
“That’s cool. Can I help?”
I’m wearing nothing but a plaid cotton shirt. The front tails tied in a knot at my ribs. No bra underneath. I take a sip of beer. The can is cold and beaded with sweat.
“Check this out,” rubbing the cold can against my nipples. The moisture soaks through the shirt intensifying my pleasure. My nipples go from zero to hard-on in two-point-one seconds. Dill sees this and slobbers beer all down his bare hairy chest. He almost loses control, swerving across the centerline. But corrects, barely missing an on-coming Toyota, it’s tinny horn blaring before going Doppler trailing obscenities from the driver.
Dill’s now got a tent in the crotch of his Levi’s that could easily house a full-grown python. I reach over, undo his pants and pull out his huge lizard. God, I love the feel of rock-hard cock. Just the sight and touch of him’s got my pussy watering.
Stepmom Vacation
“Goodness gracious me, Jesse, you look like you’re about to have a heart attack. Give me those bags. Come, sit on the sofa and put your feet up. I’ll get you a cold glass of lemonade.”
Jesse Christianson had just gotten home on summer break from college. His problem was his girlfriend, Allison Mills, had just dropped the bomb that she no longer wanted to see him.
“Our relationship has gotten stale,” she’d told him this morning in bed just as he’d rolled over onto her, wanting her sweet sugar. She closed her legs and rolled him back over to his side of the bed.
“What? Sweetie, Don’t you feel well?”
“God’s sake, Jess, open your eyes. How long has it been since you’ve given me an orgasm? You’re a great lover but you just don’t turn me on any more.”
He tried to rationalize this sudden bombshell but her mind was made up. They had no future together. It was best if he just packed his things and moved out. He couldn’t bear the thought of her spending the summer hanging out on Old Orchard Beach, bate for all the other horny college guys. So, he retreated home to Scarborough to his dad, Jack, and stepmom, Kate.
“Here you are, honey,” Kate said, handing him the ice-cold glass of lemonade and sitting down beside him. His stepmom, had seductive shoulder length blonde hair and a great athletic figure for a forty-year-old. Having just returned from her morning yoga class, she was still in her tight yoga pants and tank that showed exactly how well endowed her motherly figure was. Kate defined the term MILF. But Mom-I’d-Like-to-Fuck was a foreign concept to Jesse. He had Allison-on-the-mind and the hole she’d left in his heart was eating him alive.
“Thanks, mom,” taking a refreshing sip. The lemonade did wonders for his parched throat. “I needed that.”
“Good,” patting his jean clad leg. “I hate to see you like this, sweetie, tell what’s wrong.” She looked into his eyes with a steady comforting gaze that said, “Tell me all your troubles. Let them dissolve into my loving care.”
“It’s Allison, mom,” his voice shaking. He set the glass of lemonade on the coffee table, afraid of spilling it on the new beige sofa. “She’s dumped me,” the words barely coming out in a whisper. He raised his hand to cover his tears.
“Oh, sweet baby.”
Kate put her tanned arm around him, kissed his forehead, brought his head over to rest upon her bosom and stroked his blond hair.
Jesse’s biological mother had died in an auto accident when he was only ten. A couple years later Jack met and married Kate. With his dad putting in long hours to make his construction company prosper, it fell to Kate to help Jessie through the difficult years of puberty and the “girl-problem” years of high school. Thus she came to know her son well and could now offer him comfort in his current emotional crisis.
“Let’s talk about it, dear, and it’ll help you feel better. And you know I don’t like beating around the bush so let’s get to the heart of the matter. How has your sexual relationship been with her?”
“I just can’t figure her out, mom. We’ve been doing it every day. It’s been great. But this morning she says she hasn’t had an orgasm for weeks.” Jesse opened his teary eyes. His stepmom’s ample cleavage filled his field of view. Her supple skin was streaked with the tracks of his tears. They had run down and soaked the top of her white tank rendering their fabric nearly transparent over the ripple of her large aureoles and erect nipples. Until then he hadn’t been aware that she wore no bra. He felt a slight tingle at the tip of his penis. The awareness of which made him feel a little embarrassed and self-conscious. No way did he want to pop a boner while resting his head on his mom’s breasts.
PEG!
“These are hard times,” candidate Johnson Blunt (code-name Iron Balls) shouts out at the crowd of rabid supporters. “We gotta take the world by the balls! This country’s gotta get back to being the tough bastard she once was! She’s gotta get back her respect! As your leader I’ll put her back on top!”
Deafening applause.
BLUNT! BLUNT! BLUNT!
That arrogant shit’s in need of a good ramming. You’re mine big boy. I’m gonna stick it to the most powerful man on earth. That’s why I took this job. I’m gonna fuck Johnson Tiberius Blunt. The most powerful man in the world. Bank on it. Ms. Peg Masters is gonna ride you, Mr. Blunt. Gonna ride you like the great national wet dream. As a member of your personal security squad, it’s my duty to protect your ass at all times, Mr. Blunt. I’m gonna be on your ass so tight you’re gonna nominate me as your ramming mate.
We’re at a rally somewhere in the Midwest. I don’t know which state. We’re just moving too fast. We’re at some outdoor arena. Could be a state fair show ground. Some kind of livestock arena. But it looks like ten thousand people standing out there. Crowding the stage. That’s where I am. No more than five feet behind Blunt. He’s walking the stage. Cordless mic in hand. Working the crowd. The entire security team is on a heightened sense of alert because of the recent terrorist strike in Brussels.
“This nation needs to get Blunt!” He shouts.
Mad applause.
“What do you think of Connie Chilton’s stance on terrorism?” Someone from the crowd shouts, referring to Blunt’s Democrat opponent.
“I’m sure Connie can make a mean apple pie. But, I’m sorry, she just doesn’t have the balls to keep this country safe.”
Mad applause.
What a fricking dink. I’m really going to stick it to him.
DOWN WITH BLUNT!
A loud anti-Blunt de
monstration is raging outside the show grounds fence.
DUMP BLUNT! PUNT BLUNT!
As a member of Iron Balls’ personal security team I’m alert to every movement he makes. My peripheral vision takes in the slightest motion from anything within spitting range.
I haven’t laid my girlfriend, Lizzi, in a couple weeks. That’s how long we’ve been on the road. The intensity of all this campaigning’s really got me horny. Horny intense.
Bet you’re wondering how a woman gets to work security for a top political candidate. Connections. Dad was Secret Service. Growing up, he taught me all the tricks of personal security. Stealth shadowing. Total vigilance. Complete awareness of your environment. Subduing combatants. We used to play bodyguard at rock concerts when I was in high school. I’d protect him. We’d be in the crowd. I’d see someone accidentally make a sudden move toward dad. Poor shit who made the move would suddenly find himself on the hardwood gym floor sporting a sprained ankle.
Getting back to Iron Balls, he’s got four people on his personal security detachment. There was one opening left when I applied and I had to fight for it. Me and this guy interviewed for it together. We’re both in the campaign manager’s office. Standing side by side in front of his desk.
“Ms. Masters,” the manager asks me. “How bad do you want this job? What makes you qualified to protect the future leader of the free world?”
Without saying a word, I swiftly stretch my right arm out behind my competition, grab his collar, and slam his face down on the manager’s desk. Poor guy crumples to the floor holding his face, groaning.
“When can you start?” the manager says, staring wide eyed.
See, to maintain my competitive edge, I belong to an all girls erotic wrestling league. Three rounds per match. First two rounds we get down and dirty flopping around on the mat like landed fish. Points are awarded for displayed acts of domination. Stripping off the other girl’s bikini. Titty groping. Nipple biting. Pussy whipping. Winner gets to free-for-all fuck the opponent in the final round. This all happens in front of a crowd of some fifty drooling perverts. I’m reigning champ. It pays the bills.
Malory (Love Binge Book 1) Page 3
